


Patience

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:39:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“‘You didn’t want patience, right?’” For once, Justin is more impatient than Giriko.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience

The assignment itself was easy enough. In practice it ended up being more of a diplomatic mission than anything else, and while Justin doesn’t have Death Scythe’s skill at talking down a tense situation his status as a Death Weapon was sufficient, in this case, as Lord Death must have known it would be. It never fails to amaze him how an argument that seems worth a war from a distance starts to look petty when the parties are explaining their positions to Justin directly. Unfortunately the ease of the mission didn’t negate the three-hour flight each way, and by the time Justin gets back to Death City he is dehydrated and exhausted and  _bored_.

The last is the problem. There was a time, not long ago, when he was perfectly content to spend all day sitting quietly at home, listening to music dripped directly into his brain and doing nothing at all. He’s still not used to the strange jitter of better-things-to-do, alternate uses for time that he’s not used to considering as valuable outside of its use to Lord Death. Maybe it’s something he’s learned from Giriko; maybe it’s just the presence of another person, the possibility of  _interaction_  that he’s starting to crave, now, when it has only ever been exhausting before.

His headphones are out even before he comes in the front door, the resulting silence strangely loaded with ambient noise and anticipation, and it pays off almost immediately. He has barely stepped over the threshold, the handle of the door still twisting in his hand, when Giriko’s voice comes loud over the sound of the television.

“Is that you, priest boy?”

With Giriko out of sight, Justin can let himself smile. He can feel the expression break warm and soft over his face, pulling at muscles his smiles don’t usually touch until the reaction is curling at the corners of his eyes and over his cheeks as well as the simple tug at his lips.

“Were you waiting up for me?” he calls back by way of greeting. It’s not really that late, only an hour or two past sunset, but he can fill the words with the snap of teasing, and Giriko’s growl in a response makes him laugh.

“I can see it now,” Justin continues, toeing his boots free and coming down the hallway. “All alone all day, you poor thing. You didn’t tear up the couch while I was gone, did you?”

He rounds the corner to the living room and nearly collides with Giriko, on his feet and storming out to meet him. If Justin were more easily startled he would jump; luckily he’s not, so he just takes a half-step backward in submission to his balance and widens his eyes at Giriko with the best show of innocence he can manage.

“Were you  _pining_?” he goes on.

Giriko hisses. This close Justin can’t quite take in his full expression, only separate impressions of bared teeth and narrowed eyes and the shadow of hair falling over his downturned face, but even in pieces the intensity of Giriko’s presence flares heat all across his skin so it takes some self-control to keep from just bridging the distance and covering the chainsaw’s mouth with his. Of course Justin is  _very_  good at self-control, so instead of throwing himself at Giriko he tips his head to the side and maintains his carefully amused smile.

It has  _exactly_  the effect he expects. Giriko keeps glaring at him, but after a moment with no response the chainsaw makes a sound of raw frustration back in his throat and shoves in closer in a futile attempt to bring his extra breadth to bear in an attempt at intimidation.

“I was  _plenty_  entertained,” he spits. Justin blinks at the burst of air in his face but doesn’t react otherwise, and Giriko continues. “ _You’re_  the one who came looking for me as soon as you came in the door.”

“Just to make sure you hadn’t destroyed the entire place while I was gone,” Justin says reasonably.

Giriko bares his teeth and leans in further. Justin is distantly aware that this is probably intended as an intimidation tactic, but in practice Giriko pushes right past his own self-control, and he’s coming forward in time with the chainsaw so their mouths crush together with more force than is at all comfortable. Justin’s hands are up in Giriko’s hair before he means for them to be, pulling forward  _hard_  as if the chainsaw can really get any closer, and his mouth is open before he’s backed off from the excess of pressure on his lips. Giriko makes a weird sound, sort of choking surprise back in his throat, but then he opens his mouth too and their lips slot together like they’re supposed to. Justin can taste beer on the chainsaw’s tongue and his stubble is scraping against the priest’s skin and the hands against Justin’s back are digging kind of painfully into his spine and all he can manage is a whimper of satisfaction and a half-step forward to press in closer to the chainsaw’s body.

It’s all heat and pressure and friction for a minute, and then Giriko pulls his mouth away but not his body and turns sideways to bite hard at the top edge of Justin’s ear. Justin hisses at the pain but he doesn’t pull away either, and when he pushes Giriko stumbles a few steps backward until he hits the back of the couch and almost falls.

“Fuck,” the chainsaw grunts as he impacts against the sofa, but there’s not really any fire to the word and his hands are tugging Justin’s robes up around his waist as the priest steps forward. “What the hell were you thinking about all day?”

“You,” Justin says, perfectly sincere for that one word, and Giriko chokes on a breath and Justin takes advantage of his momentary distraction to pull the chainsaw’s white shirt up over his head. It catches on the chain around Giriko’s neck, and then there’s a tangle of fabric as Giriko refuses to let go of his hold on Justin’s own clothes, but then Giriko growls in frustration and yanks. The cross around Justin’s neck catches and pulls against his skin for a minute; then the priest twists his head, and wiggles inventively, and the chain comes free along with his clothes and Giriko’s shirt. He’s back against the chainsaw as soon as the fabric is reasonably aside, coming up to rest one knee on the back of the couch alongside Giriko so he’s half-straddling the other man while his hands are back against the chainsaw’s hair and brushing over the metal loops through his ear.

Giriko is laughing as Justin comes in to bite at his other ear, catching his teeth on the chainsaw’s earrings so they grate hard over his teeth and he can feel the vibration straight into his body.

“Shit, you’re reminding me of being a horny teenager myself.” Justin whines into his ear and Giriko’s hand against his shirt curls into a fist around the thin fabric. “And that’s so far back I can barely remember it.”

“What’s the matter,  _old man_?” Justin asks, deliberately soft into the chainsaw’s ear. “Can’t remember how to get it up?”

It’s obviously not true -- Justin can feel  _exactly_  how untrue it is, pressed up against the chainsaw as he is -- but that fist jerks so hard he’s pulled back by his shirt, and he’s laughing even before he gets a good look at the rage in Giriko’s face.

“You don’t even fucking know what you  _want_ , you little  _shit_ ,” Giriko growls. His eyes are so dark they look almost black, snapping with fury. “Experience wins out over  _desperation_  every time.”

“Oh  _yes_ ,” Justin croons, letting his hold on Giriko go so he can clasp his hands together in a faux plea. “I’m just so  _desperate_  for you, Giriko!” He’s putting on a ridiculous voice, high and breathy, but Giriko’s mouth is twisting in amusement even though the spark in his eyes is still hot. “Please  _teach_  me.”

Giriko brings his foot up and kicks Justin so hard in the chest the priest loses his breath as he stumbles backward. The priest really  _did_  strike a nerve, then. Justin can’t manage to regret it, even as he gasps for air, lungs spasming from the impact.

“Go get the fucking lube, if you’re so needy,” Giriko spits, and Justin makes for the bedroom without waiting to be told twice. He thinks there might be a startled chuckle from behind him, but he doesn’t wait to confirm, just goes to collect the bottle while straightening his face into the best impression of wide-eyed innocence he can manage.

“Oh  _God_ ,” he says as he comes back around the corner. Giriko is still against the back of the couch, his arms crossed over his bare chest and chin still tipped down so his face in shadowed with irritation. Justin comes in all uncaring of the warning in those eyes and winds his arms around Giriko’s neck before getting his leg up and around Giriko’s hip. “What will you  _do_  to me?”

Giriko comes in to bite at Justin’s collarbone, hard enough that the priest hisses in pain and instinctively flinches back from the pressure. The chainsaw grabs his hips to hold him still and smiles against the skin of his shoulder so he can feel it even if he can’t see it. “Oh,  _terrible_  things.”

“Mm.” Justin is trying to sound half-frightened but the sound comes out all as a purr instead and Giriko’s hands tighten against him. “It’s my first time,” he whimpers against Giriko’s ear, and even though he’s putting on an absurd voice and it’s patently untrue he can feel the chainsaw’s cock twitch against his leg. “Be  _gentle_  with me, Giriko.”

Giriko laughs sharp against Justin’s shoulder. “You weren’t this virginal when you were  _actually_  a virgin.” One hand curls around the edge of Justin’s pants to dig against bare skin bruisingly hard, so Justin’s facade drops for a minute and he gasps and rocks forward. “There was a lot more begging involved, actually.”

“Would you prefer that?” Justin asks in his ordinary cool tone. He takes a breath and goes on in a lower voice, letting the words roll dark and needy in his throat. “ _Take_  me, Giriko,  _please_.” He rocks forward again, grinds hard against the chainsaw so they both nearly fall over the back of the couch, and there’s no need for acting this time. “Fuck me  _blind_.”

Giriko groans and bucks up against Justin’s hips before he can get his hand free and around to the front of the priest’s jeans. Justin smiles, carefully where Giriko can’t see him, and lets his control over his breath go so the chainsaw can hear him gasping against his ear.

“Which is it, then?” Giriko manages as he gets Justin’s pants open and pulls hard on the fabric. Justin untangles himself from the chainsaw long enough to work his legs free and then comes back to straddle the other weapon again as Giriko’s hand closes around his cock. He groans at the contact, nearly missing the chainsaw’s next words. “You want me to be gentle or rough?”

“Does it make a difference?” Justin says in his normal tone. He pulls back to look down into Giriko’s face so the chainsaw can see the lopsided smile on his face. “What are you  _going_  to do?”

Giriko barks a laugh, any residual frustration in his eyes lifting for a moment. “You’re right.” He pulls  _hard_  at Justin’s cock, jerking painful friction so Justin twists in a futile attempt to pull away and gasps a hurt inhale before Giriko moves his hands to the blond’s hips and shoves him away. Justin stumbles back; it takes him a moment to catch his balance, another to pull his shirt up over his head, and when he comes back in Giriko has his pants halfway open already. Justin grabs at the waistband and pulls just before the chainsaw is entirely ready so he catches the zipper on tension and has to yank hard to get it entirely open.

“Jesus fuck,” Giriko growls, though he’s kicking his pants free in spite of the protest. “Do you have no patience at all?”

Justin laughs. He is already coming in to line his skin up with the chainsaw’s, reaching out to pull at the chainsaw’s hip and trailing his other hand down over Giriko’s hardened cock. “That’s a bit rich, coming from you.”

“You saying I don’t have any patience?” Giriko’s hands close hard on Justin’s hips, and when he moves Justin lets him twist so they trade places against the back of the couch. He angles one foot up on the back of the couch in a show of flexibility deliberately calculated to get the flicker of a blink from Giriko that it generates.

“That is  _exactly_  what I’m saying,” Justin says, offering the bottle of lube still in his hand for the chainsaw.

Giriko snatches it from him. “Look, you little shit, do you want me to exhibit some fucking patience right now?”

“No.” Justin reaches for the chainsaw’s hair and pulls him closer as Giriko gets the bottle open and slicks liquid across his fingers...and hands, and the floor, in an impressive display of carelessness. “I  _want_  you to fuck me into the couch until I can’t remember my own name.” He gets his hand around the chainsaw’s cock while Giriko reaches for him. “Or the wall. Or the --” His sentence breaks around a sharp inhale as the chainsaw slides a none-too-gentle finger inside him, and when he goes on it’s somewhat breathless. “The floor. I don’t particularly care  _where_ , honestly.” He has to stop talking then or be rendered completely incoherent, as Giriko starts thrusting with the hand inside him and it takes both hands and all his attention to keep from falling backwards onto the couch.

“Huh.” Giriko is grinning, all his teeth showing bright and sharp, and Justin’s not sure if it’s in anticipation or in delight at his own neediness or both. “You sure have some good ideas.” He withdraws his hand to come back in with two fingers a moment later; Justin groans and his eyes go out-of-focus, fixed blankly on the chainsaw’s shoulder. He lets go of Giriko’s shoulder with one hand to wrap his fingers around himself; after a moment he gets the rhythm of the chainsaw’s movements and matches it, slow strokes that don’t do much except coil the  _want_  in his stomach tighter.

Giriko grunts, and when Justin blinks back to look at his face the chainsaw’s watching Justin’s hand move on himself with his mouth open and eyes hazy with satisfaction. Then he looks up, catches Justin watching him, and his face drops back into irritation.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, low enough that it’s ostensibly to himself, and draws his hand free to grab his own cock and slick lube over the length. “You didn’t want  _patience_ , right?” Justin watches the movement of his hand and doesn’t realize he’s running his tongue over his lower lip until Giriko coughs another laugh and grabs Justin’s chin with his free hand.

“Keep that up and I’ll fuck your face instead of your ass, and you’ll have to wait for your turn until I’m done.” Justin shuts his mouth and Giriko grins again. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. C’mere.” He grabs Justin’s ankle that’s up against the back of the couch and pulls sideways, so Justin twists against the top of the couch until he’s nearly lying across it and can reach out to steady himself on the furniture itself. Giriko shoves the priest’s leg to the side as if he’s dismissing the limb like he did their clothing earlier and steps between Justin’s thighs before Justin has figured out what to  _do_  in response to a gesture like that.

“Don’t fall,” Giriko offers helpfully, and then he grabs Justin’s hips in his hands and pulls forward to drag the priest onto his cock. Justin  _does_  almost fall; one hand slips sideways while he’s trying to arch his back and he has to fumble to recover his balance, but Giriko barely gives him time to steady himself before he pulls back and thrusts forward again.

He really wasn’t kidding about not being patient. The chainsaw’s movements are forceful enough that Justin is rocking back with each thrust; it’s only the combination of Giriko’s hands pulling at his hips and his own hands locked out behind him that keep him in place.

“Is this what you wanted?” Giriko asks. He is grinning, still, the sharpness of his teeth a suggestion and a promise, and Justin’s composure is going  _fast_ , as fast as he can ever remember it.

“Yes,” he manages. He’s pretty sure anything more complicated would turn into a groan before he made it to any actual meaning.

Giriko jerks his chin at Justin’s hand. “Jerk yourself off.” He punctuates this with a rock of his hips that nearly pushes the priest off-balance. “I want to see you come while I’m fucking you senseless.”

“I’m not senseless yet,” Justin gets out, but he closes his fingers around himself anyway.

Giriko leans in until his mouth is almost touching Justin’s. “Not  _yet_.” Justin has to smile, and then he pumps his hand slow over himself and Giriko says “ _Faster_ , Justin,” and it’s his name in the chainsaw’s mouth as much as the command that speeds the priest’s movements.

Giriko’s eyes drop from Justin’s face to his cock while the priest keeps watching the chainsaw. Justin groans when Giriko bites his lip, and the chainsaw glances up at him and grins again and that’s almost worse, and then he says “Fuckin’  _faster_ ,” as he shoves forward and that  _is_  worse, and Justin’s hand is moving quick as if Giriko is the one controlling it and not the priest. He’s sliding back, now, the counterbalance of one arm alone insufficient to counteract the chainsaw’s momentum, and Giriko growls in frustration and grabs his leg and shoves up at an angle that Justin didn’t think he  _could_  bend. He can, apparently, and then Giriko growls “ _Fuck_  you look good like this,” and Justin groans at the way Giriko is looking at him and his vision starts to go hazy and unimportant. Giriko is talking but Justin doesn’t know what he’s saying, his whole world is narrowing to the friction of his hand against the sensitive skin of his cock and the relentless pound of Giriko inside him. Then that fractures away too, the sensation of his movement blending into that of Giriko’s until it’s all just a trembling thrum of feeling over a tight-wound chord.

Then it snaps, and Justin’s gasping moan is relief as much as it is pleasure, and he doesn’t realize the sound is Giriko’s name until the rush of satisfaction passes.

Giriko is speaking, still, words that Justin stopped understanding well before he stopped hearing them, and they’re mostly muttered curses but syllables of his name keep breaking through, “Justin” separated by a groan or a “fuck” or a hiss. The chainsaw’s eyes are open still but Justin can see them going unfocused, still locked against the line of his collarbone even though there’s nothing in particular to see there. With his own vision back, the priest can see Giriko’s mouth come open, can see the hesitation just at the cusp of orgasm. He says “ _Giriko_ ,” with no deliberation, dropping the sound into the pause, and Giriko groans and shuts his eyes, and Justin can see the spasm of pleasure across his face as much as the rest of his body.

The priest sits up to wrap himself around Giriko while the chainsaw’s still quivering with aftershocks, so by the time Giriko’s hands relax from their locked grip he’s got one leg around the other man and both hands up in his hair. Giriko starts to growl, but the protest turns into a chuckle, and he lets his hold go so he can wrap his arms around the priest.

“Maybe next time I’ll actually be gentle,” he says into Justin’s shoulder.

The priest shudders in overdone horror. “Oh  _God_  no, anything but that.”

Giriko laughs, and bites blood into Justin’s skin, and Justin curls into it and purrs like he’s been kissed.


End file.
